Return To The Twilight Zone
by Metal Sonic EX
Summary: Created as a tribute to the greatest show on television, this fanfiction includes original stories.
1. Death's Game

Return To The Twilight Zone  
By: Metal Sonic EX

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Hi again! This is a pretty small category, so I don't expect much from this. But, then again, in my opinion, The Twilight Zone is the best damn show on TV, past or present. So, if you think otherwise, well… shove it. As for you who don't think otherwise, read on!!

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Disclaimer: The Twilight Zone is (c) to Rod Serling. Any stories other than my own will have their submitters credited when they're written.

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Based Off Of: n/a  
Inspired By: A crappy Megaman fic I wrote

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(The Twilight Zone theme begins playing.)

Serling: This is a door. The key is one of imagination. One of sound, one of sight, one of mind, and one of that we do not understand. It is the unknown that leads us here and it is that which keeps us in this mysterious dimension sealed only by this door. Readers, you have just opened this door and, by doing such, have returned to… the Twilight Zone.

(The Twilight Zone theme ends.)

* * *

(The scene is a hallway in a fancy aprtment complex. A tired-looking man walks up to a door and puts his briefcase down. As he goes to open his door, he notices that his neighbor's door is open. Curious, he peeks in and sees him standing on the balconey. The man starts and rushes to pull him down, but gets there in time to see the man plummet to his death. Grimacing, he turns around and notices that every square inch of the room has the phrase 'I couldn't figure it out...' written on it with some kind of paint.)

'_Submitted for your approval, the now scene of a suicide, one which is surrounded in mystery. The phrase 'I couldn't figure it out...' may not seem like much, but it is one of the most important clues in this case.'_

(The camera turns to Serling as he looks over the side of the balconey, then turns to the camera.)

'_Now, Marcus Thornan, the only witness of the incident, is next. He doesn't know it, but he must either unravel the mystery of this event... or die. But this is no ordinary task. This is a task that can only be accomplished... in the Twilight Zone'_

* * *

Episode One  
Death's Game

* * *

(Marcus sits by the door as three police officers and a CSI crew walk in.)

"Mr. Thornan?" Marcus nodded slowly. "I'm Officer Reen. Can you tell me all that you saw?" Marcus motioned into the room and the group started. "I couldn't wait in there. I wouldn't..." The police and CSI walked in, followed slowly afterwards. Marcus looked up as the CSI began examining the room. "So, can you tell me what you saw?" Marcus slowly nodded. "He was standing on the edge and..." Reed walked to the balconey and looked over. "Pretty long fall." Reed turned around and examined the room. Looking up, he noticed a single patch of open space in the middle of the ceiling.

"Turn the lights off." Everyone followed his gaze, then one of the officers complied. The phrase 'Death's Game' became visible and a CSI worker asked an officer to get a ladder. As he left, Reed turned back to Marcus. "Did Mr. Tucker have any enemies?" Marcus laughed lightly. "Maybe in a past life. I've never known someone so loved before in my life. Everyone admired him." Reed nodded, then looked around. "Would you like us to arrange a hotel room?" Marcus nodded slowly, then walk back into his own room and packed a few things.

Ten minutes later, Marcus a police car drove up to the local Econo Lodge. "Do you need anything else?" Marcus shook his head and slowly opened the door. "I'll probably just go to the local bar. It's not far." Reed laughed. "Hell, after this, I might join you." Marcus smirked. "I'll see you there." Marcus closed the door and backed up as the car drove off into the night. Marcus then went inside and put his stuff into his room. Afterwards, he walked a few blocks to the local bar. "Hey Phil." The bartender, whom Marucs had known most his life, turned to him. "Jesus, Mark! YOu look like shit!"

Marcus took a sit between two other regulars, Dave and Robert. Phil opened up a Budweiser and handed it to him. "On the house." Marucs smiled slightly, then explained what had happened. "Jesus... That's gotta be rough..." They then sit there in silence until the news report came on a few minutes later. After drinking the beer over a course of two hours, Marcus stood up. "I'm heading off." Phil nodded. "You take care of yourself out there." Marcus nodded as Dave and Bob both bid farewell as well.

Back at his hotel, he brought out his laptop, then e-mailed a few relatives assuring them that he was fine. He then went into the bathroom and took a shower. After getting out, he put on shaving cream and bent over to turn the water on. When he stood erect again, he dropped his shaver in surprise. There, in his doorway was a cloaked figure holding a scythe.

* * *

Marcus spun around, but nothing was there. He turned back to the mirror, but the image was gone. Sighing, he finished shaving, then called the front desk, asking for a wake-up call of 5:30. After several sleepless hours, he somehow managed only to be woken up a few hours later. "Hello?" Marcus got up and opened his door. He looked out, but saw no one. Shrugging, he closed the door and turned around. This time, the figure was standing next to his bed. He slammed his eyes shut, then reopened them to see that the figure had vanished.

Sighing, he pressed up against the wall and let his body slowly slide down tothe floor. The phone rang, causing him to jump. He walked to the phone and reluctantly answered. "He-hello...?" "This is your 5:30 wake-up call, Mr. Thornan." Marcus sighed. "Th-thank you." He hung up and sighed. "Well, no point in going back to sleep now..." The phone rang again and again, he reluctantly answered it. "He-hello?" "Sorry to disturb you again, but you've got a call from a Mr. Walton." His boss?

"P-patch it through."

"Marcus, you okay? I heard about what happened."

"I'm f-fine..."

"Doesn't sound like it. Listen, I want you to take a few days e back when you feel better, okay?"

"O-okay..."

Marcus hung up and sighed. Now what? Marcus showered, got dressed, and began cruising around town, trying to take ihs mind off of the night before. Unfortunately, it wasn't working. First, at the museum, while examining a copy of 'The Screamer' (or maybe it's called 'The Scream'...), he saw the cloaked figure standing in the background. He quickly left and went to the library. There, he saw it standing in the middle of an aisle of books. Panicky, he went to the zoo, but the lions were acting weirdly. He looked to see what was going on and saw it standing in the lions' den while the lions kept their distance.

After a stressful day, Marcus returned to the bar in an attempt to drown his fear. "Wow... Just when I thought you couldn't look any worse... What happened now?" Marcus sighed. "I think... I think I've been seeing Death?" Dave, Bob, and Phil all gave him a weird look. "I'm serious! Last night, I saw something in my bathroom doorway, then by my bed. And just today, it was at the zoo, the library, and it was even in the background of 'The Screamer' (or The Scream')!"

Phil shook his head. "You're losing it, Mark. You've gotta get a hold of yourself. Hell, you shouldn't even be here! You should be at your room trying to get some sleep!" Marcus slowly nodded, then stood up. "R-right. I... I'll see you guys later." He walked out, then a few minutes passed before Dave stood up.

"I'd better be off too." Phil chuckled. "Where you going?" Dave smirked. "Gotta stop by that Halloween store." Phil frowned. "What for?" Dave raised an eyebrow. "My costume." Phil furrowed his eyebrows. "It's April." Dave shrugged. "Even that's good is gone by September." Dave walked out and left Phil looked rathered peeved. "You okay?" Phil turned to Bob. "Hmph! That depends..."

The next morning, after a surprisingly good sleep, Marcus showered and got ready for work. He walked outside and began walking to the bus stop a few blocks away. As he was walking down the street, he turned his head and saw the figure standing next to a cab. Panicking, he dropped his briefcase and ran like the wind. A few blocks down, he stopped and began to catch his breath. Looking up, he saw the same figure standing by the same cab. Again, he began running for his life and, when he reached the bus stop, he plopped down into the bench.

Back at the bar, Phil just opened the door when Bob walked in. "Okay, two questions. Why so early?" Bob laughed. "It's my day off. That, and it's gotta be five somewhere." Phil chuckled. "Okay, two. Just what did Dave get?" Bob snorted. "Got a cloak and scythe. Don't know wh-" Phil grabbed Bob by the collar and pulled him in so close, their noses nearly touched. "I swear to God, if something happens to Mark because of your stupid ass brother's actions, I'll cut off his head and shove it up your ass."

Phil threw him to the ground, then ran outside and got into his car. Back at the bench, Marcus finally began catching his breath, then sighed. He sat back and opened his eyes, looking straight up into the figure's hood. Screaming in terror, he sprinted from the bench and ran into the street where he was promptly hit by Phil. "Oh Jesus! Mark!" Phil ran to Marcus' side, noticing a large pool of blood coming from his head. Marcus sounded like... like he was chuckling... "I... finally figured it out... Death's Game..." Marcus passed on and Phil roared in anger. As Dave went to run away, Phil grabbed him and threw him to the ground. "Are you fucking insane?! What were you thinking?!"

Dave, in a panic, began explaining the joke he'd planned, how he'd followed Marcus in the cab, which he drove for a living, and that he never meant for it to go this far. "Well, no shit! But it did and he's dead!" Dave growled and pointd an accusing finger at Phil. "You hit him!" Phil reached for Dave's neck, but went pale and fainted. "What the...?" Dave turned around to find another cloaked figure standing there. It looked up, revealing that its' head was a skull. "Oh shit..." Dave began running for it as Death slowly followed him.

_'A practical joke that was more practical than it had appeared. Now, Mr. David Hane is next in the long line of Death's playthings, victims it toys with before striking them down. Perhaps he will be luckier than the ex-witness, one Mr. Marcus Thornan. Or, perhaps he'll be the same as him, a victim doomed to an eternal rest... in the Twilight Zone.'_


	2. Practice Makes Perfect

Disclaimer: The Twilight Zone is (c) to Rod Serling. Any stories other than my own will have their submitters credited when they're written.

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Based Off Of: n/a  
Inspired By: n/a

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(The Twilight Zone theme begins playing.)

Serling: This is a door. The key is one of imagination. One of sound, one of sight, one of mind, and one of that we do not understand. It is the unknown that leads us here and it is that which keeps us in this mysterious dimension sealed only by this door. Readers, you have just opened this door and, by doing such, have returned to… the Twilight Zone.

(The Twilight Zone theme ends.)

* * *

(The scene is an army training field. The privates run into a line and stand erect as a disgruntled man walks up with a cigar loosely hanging from his lips.)

"Alright, you turd nuggets. Last night, I made is specifically clear that no one, and I meant _no one_, was to eat outside the mess hall. And yet..." The man held up half a donut that's been cut perfectly in half. "I found this is the bunkers last night. It obviously wasn't an ant, a roach, or a moth that did it. How do I know? Because someone took the time to cut it into two perfect little halves. Now, which one of you sniveling snot-nosed sonnuvabitches took it?!" A private smirked and muttered 'It was probably you...'

The man started, then walked right up to the private. "Care to repeat that?" The private shook his head. "Sir, no, sir!" The man smirked. "Is that so...? Well, courtesy of the dipshit that took this donut, you just got yourself breakfast. Eat!" The man threw the donut into the private's hands, who looked at it. "I said eat! And for the rest of you, fifty laps around the premises, courtesy of Mr. Giggles here."

The other privates yelled 'Sir, yes, sir!', then began running off grumbling amongst themselves as the private who stayed behind relunctantly took a bite of the donut. "And I want to hear singing! How about... Barbie Girl! That seems like a nice litle tune, doesn't it?" The privates began singing as they jogged. "I can't hear you!!"

As the group sang louder, the private finished off the donut. "Well, private, looks like you enjoyed that little snack. You know, you're a prime example of why this country is going to Hell in a handbasket. Now, because of that little remark, a hundred laps. Move!" The man watched with delight as the private took of running, then laughed as he listened to the other privates singing."

_'Portrait of a drill sergeant, Gregory Stain, who's made it his life's work to belittle and demean his soldiers until they crack under pressure. For Mr. Stain, anything less than perfection is unacceptable.'_

(The camera turns to Serling, who walks out of the nearby mess hall.)

_'In just a moment, Mr. Stain will finally obtain that which he desires so badly. But the cost for such a reward is a one-way trip... to the Twilight Zone.'_

* * *

Episode Two  
Practice Makes Perfect

* * *

That night, everyone was sleeping soundly when Stain burst through the doors screaming 'Up and at 'em!' The privates groaned and one looked at the clock. "Sir, with all due respect, it's only three." Stain grew wide-eyed, then marched over to him, lifting him into the air by his collar. "Is that so?! Are you waiting to go to school, son?! I guess the country screwed up and instead of bringing me new recruits, brought a bunch of kids instead! Well, in that case, everone gets five more minutes!"

Several privates shrugged and laid back down. "Everyone who just laid down gets nothing 'til lunch and furthermore, they get to clean up after." The privates groaned and slowly got up. "Faster, ladies!" Within seconds, the privates stood in a line with their eyes half-open. "Do you enjoy harassing us?" Stain dropped the private, then turned to another. "Pardon me...?" The private repeated himself and Stain marched right up to him.

"Yes, I do. And as a matter of fact, your name from this day until you leave my eyes for good is Private Pissant." The private frowned. "Sir, my name is-" "Your name is Private Pissant! Say it!" The private growled. "My name is Private Pissant, sir!" Stain grew wide-eyed again. "Your name is Private Pissant?! What kind of mother would do _that_ to her kid?!"

Two other privates chuckled, but stopped when Stain turned to them. "Dipshit and Doorknob respectively." The privates stood erect. "Our names are Dipshit and Doorknob respectively, sir!" Stain started and walked over to them. "Your names are Dipshit and Doorknob respectively?! And here I thought Mr. Pissant's mother was a bad one!"

Stain turned around, still wide-eyed. "Does anyone else have a bad mother?!" Everyone remained quiet and Stain growled. "I said does anyone else have a bad mother?!" The privates stood erect. "Sir, no, sir!" Stain smirked. "Very good. Meet me outside in five." Stain walked outside, satisfied with the early morning events. Outside, Stain laughed when the privates stood erect in a line.

"Well, this is a surprise! Up so early? You must really be gluttons for pain. Very well. I'll give you pain. Twenty miles. Let's move!" Stain began jogging and the privates reluctantly followed. After a minute or two, Stain began making them recite the words to Margaritaville. However, two privates in the back refused to speak, instead conversing amongst themselves.

"Stain is such a fucking prick."

"You shouldn't compliment him like that."

"I think that we should wait until night, then kill him."

"With what? A plastic fork?"

"I don't know! A rock, his pillow... Just as long as we don't have to put up with his shit anymore."

"I think that this is a bit thicker than shit."

"You don't say..."

The two privates started. They'd finally noticed that the group had stopped singing and Stain was now right behind them. "You know..." Stain slid his arms around the two privates' shoulders. "That's murder you're planning there, boys. So, who's gonna die? Oh right... I am. Isn't that right?"

The privates stood there, frozen in terror. "Isn't that right?!" The privates stood erect. "Sir, yes, sir!" Stain frowned and, in one swift move, slammed their heads together. "Dumbasses." One of the privates groaned and slowly got up. "Good, you're still conscious. Pick up your friend here and let's move." The private wobbled, then fell back down when Stain pushed him with his foot.

"Come on, you pussy! Pick your ass up and be a man for once!" Again, the private stood up and wobbled before being pushed down by Stain again. "Permission to speak freely, sir!" Stain frowned, then crossed his arms. "I'm listening." The private stood erect. "If I may, I suspect that Private Willis has a concussion." Stain looked at the private as he stood up, then he pushed him down yet again.

"What are you? Some kind of doctor?" The private tried his best not to smirk. "Sir, yes, sir! I got my medical degree in college, sir!" Stain grew wide-eyed, in a state of mock-surprise. "Is that so? Well then, doctor, you can carry Mr. WIllis and his unconscious friend here." The private started. "Sir... I... I can't cary that much weight, sir..."

Stain walked right up into the private's face. "Tat's because you're a bigger pussy than Mr. Willis here! "I got my medical degree in college...' On a scale of one to ten, look at my face and tell me how much of a shit I give." The private grew silent. "Answer me, private!!" The private started. "Sir, I would have to guess zero, sir." Stain punched the man in the stomach and frowned as he fell to the ground. "I said on a scale of one to ten, dumbass."

He looked up and pointed at a smal trio of privates. "You guys like pussy, don't you?" The privates slowly nodded. "I can't hear you!" The privates spoke their answer this time. "Well lucky you. You three get to carry some pussy all the way back. Now move!" The privates ran to pick up the three fallen figures as Stain laughed to himself. _'God, I love this job.'_

* * *

That night, as everyone was sleeping, two figures, each about eight feet tall walked in, looked around, and muttered stuff to themselves in their native language.

"The human leader, he treats his followers badly, but they appear to have no authority to actually respond to it."

"Indeed. These humans are a primitive and stupid race. Still, as our brethren before, let us experiment."

"Yes, indeed. But how so?"

"This human leader, this Stain. He strives for perfection."

"Prefection? Indeed! But it will require vast amounts of energy."

"Indeed. But perhaps one day, our efforts here will be used to domesticate the humans."

"Indeed!"

The two figures pulled out a strange device and held into the air. there was a largeflash, then they pocketed the device and pullled another one out. It walked over to one of the beds and held it above a private's head. Nodding satisfyingly, he checked several others befor returning to his friend's side. "The experiment seems to have worked, but only time will tell. Let us leave this place and watch from afar."

The two figures nodded in unison, then they both left. The next morning, the privates walked outside and stood in a line as Stain marched up, then spoke without waiting for an answer. "Sleep well? That's fantastic!" Stain pulled a stopwatch out. "Do you know what this is?" None one spoke and Stain growled. "I asked you a question, maggots!" One of the privates stood erect. "That is a stopwatch, sir!"

Stain nodded. "Very good. It does appear that you're capable of actually thinking. Well then, let's see if you can run fast. I want two laps around this field in two minutes." The private's jaw dropped and he looked around the massive field. "I said move!" The private took off running the instant Stain pushed the start button." Stain then turned to his troops. "And as for you nitwits, I want five laps in four minutes!" Stain started when he saw no one paying attention.

"Do you all possess a mental defect or something?!" Onev of the privates pointed and Stain turned to see the private running faster than anyone he'd ever seen before. "What the hell?!" Everyone watched as he finished the lap, then ran up to Stain and saluted. "Sir!" Stain instictively stopped the timer and looked down at it. Two minutes even.

Stain's cigar nearly fell ferom his lips, but instead, he smirked. "That was one lap in two minutes, buddy." One of the privates cleared his throat and Stain turned unhappily towards him. "I was watching him the whole time, sir. That was two laps." Everyone nodded as Stain cleared the current time on the stopwatch. "Lying sacks of shit. No one can run that fast. Just to prove a point, I want..."

The privates saluted and Stain turned around, promptly saluting as well. "Colonel Flaire!" The colonel smirked. "At ease. So, I see you're training the latest batch of soldiers." Stain laughed. "These guys could hold a gun if it was taped to their hands." Stain turned around and gave his most sinister smirk. "Just to prove a point. I want all of you to run three laps in two minutes." Colonel Flaire started. "Bit excessive, isn't it?"

Stain smirked. "With all due respect, sir, these are my soldiers. I train them as I see fit." Flaire nodded and backed up. "Move!" The timer started and the troops took off running. Flaire turned to Stain as he chuckled. "The council is considering dismissing you." Stain started. "On what grounds?" Flaire motioned to the soldiers. "Excessive training styles." Stain laughed, then turned to the privates. He gasped and the cigar dropped from his lips.

Flaire followed his gaze and found the soldiers running faster than any human ever had before... and all while marching in a perfect line. "What the hell...?" The two watched as they circled the field, then ran back up to Stain at the same time and saluted. "Sir!" Stain stopped the watch and looked down. Two minutes even.

Over the next few weeks, the privates executed ever command perfectly, despite Stain's attempts to make them fail. FInally, Colonel Flaire returned and handed Stain an envelope. "Don't say it." Flaire sighed. "Don't fucking say it." Flaire swallowed. "You're being discharged." Stain slammed his fist onto the desk and growled.

"These privates, they've done things humans normally can't. The council doubts that you had to do anything with it, so they're letting you go on the grounds of being..." Stain looked up with a spark in his eyes that made Flaire back up. "Don't... say it..." Stain opened the envelope, read it, tore it up, and stormed out of the building. "God help that man..."

Two weeks later, Colonel Flaire decided to see how he was doing. He went to knock on the door, but Stain replied, 'It's open...' before he even knocked. Flaire opened the door and gasped. Stain had easily put on _at least_ thirty pounds. There were junk food wrappers and cartons all over the place and Stain was eating ice cream straight from the carton while watching game shows. "My God..."

Stain snorted. "I'd salute, but I'd have to get up." Flaire frowned and pulled him off the couch with both hands. "What the hell happened to you?!" Stain snorted and threw the half full, half melted craton of ice cream across the room. "This country and everyone living in it is going to Hell in a handbasket. So, I might as well make the most of it."

Flaire frowned, visably unpleased. "Outside. Now." Stain walked outside and into the massive rainfall without even putting on a coat. Flaire sighed and held up his umbrella as he walked outside as well. Stain began slowly walking as Colonel Flaire followed. After a few minutes, Stain fell to the ground and began sobbing, to the dismay of Flaire.

"It wasn't possible... They... They did everything so... perfectly... It just isn't possible..." Flaire sighed, then walked over to pick him up, but Stain swung his arm, causing the colonel to back up. "Don't touch me!" Shaking his head, Flaire decided to simply walk off, leaving Stain to sob on the sidewalk.

_

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_

'Portrait of a man who strived for perfection and got it, but as a result, fell victim to something he hated even more than imperfection: being obselete. Now, Mr. Gregory Stain, ex-drill sergeant, lays battered and broken on the doorsteps... of the Twilight Zone.'


	3. The Girl Next Door

Inspired By & Based Off Of: A short film made for a horror film television contest back in October 2003

* * *

(The Twilight Zone theme begins playing.)

Serling: This is a door. The key is one of imagination. One of sound, one of sight, one of mind, and one of that we do not understand. It is the unknown that leads us here and it is that which keeps us in this mysterious dimension sealed only by this door. Readers, you have just opened this door and, by doing such, have returned to… the Twilight Zone.

(The Twilight Zone theme ends.)

* * *

(The scene is of a man painting a garden scene of which the focus is a large ballerina-like bush. He smiles and works for a minute or two before noticing a woman standing nearby. He looks around his easel as she looks at him, then turns and walks away. The man sighs and returns to his painting.)

_'This is Oscar Frantz, an artist who's existence ranks slightly higher than obscurity. And the woman he just saw is the center of all of his romantic fantasies. Unfortunately, her name is something he doesn't know.'_

(The camera turns to an entrance of a garden maze as Serling walks out of it.)

_'He longs for her attention and, in a moment, he'll get it. But Mr. Frantz should study upon the saying 'More than meets the eyes', mainly because Mr. Frantz has just entered... the Twilight Zone.'_

* * *

Chapter Three  
The Girl Next Door

* * *

(Oscar hits his alarm to stop the ringing, then gets up and showers. Afterwards, he goes downstairs and begins preparing breakfast. As he does, he notices the woman standing by the entrance to the garden maze. He smiles and waves, but she simply goes into the maze. He frowns, then returns to his breakfast.

Afterwards, he washes up, gets dressed, grabs his supplies, then goes outside onto his porch and looks out into the maze. Not seeing the woman, he sighs, then sets up his easel. He gets a blank canvas ready, then pours some paint onto his palette. He goes to start, but then pauses. He leans slightly to the left and sees the girl climbing onto one of the bushes. She looks at him, then looks around. Carefully, she climbs back down onto the other side of the wall.

Nodding, he begins painting a portrait of the woman. He'd seen her so many times before that her figure was burned into his mind. Pale skin. Captivating blue eyes. A long flowing white robe. With a large smile, he continues to draw each stroke with the utmost care, making certain to paint each stroke as if he were drawing her into existence...)

"All we need now is name..."

(He begins painting her facial features on, his smile growing with each stroke...)

"So mysterious... but of such beauty..."

(Her nose. Her lips. Her eyes. Her ears. Her eyelashes. Each stroke painted with the perfect shade and each stroke painted with the gentleness of a mother holding a newborn...)

"But why all the mystery... If you are so interested in me, then why not just approach me..."

(Her long pale arms. Each finger appearing one by one as Oscar's smile continued to stretch the sides of his face...)

"Perhaps you are mute... Or worse... Perhaps you are light in the head... Such diseases are saddening and shouldn't be taken lightly..."

(Onto the robe itself, drawn into existence, being blown by an unexistent breeze...)

"Or maybe you're just afraid... I myself am afraid, but not of acceptance, but of being forced to approach you first..."

(Each crease, each curve, each wrinkle painted into perfect format...)

"I wouldn't admit it openly, but I am quite the shy one... I may be just the man you're looking for, but I'd dare not approach a lady whose name I do not know in advance..."

(Onto her long, thin, pale legs... Much like her fingers, her toes were drawn with careful strokes...)

"Whatever the reason, I intend to find out!"

(Oscar stands and looks at his work. A perfect portrait if he did say so himself. An almos eerie resemblance made it seem as it she'd shrunk and now stared blankly at him from the canvas.)

"There's only one house nearby aside from mine. His name escapes me, but it is a rich man who retired some many years ago. That is were I shall find you, no?"

(Beaming, Oscar carefully took the painting inside, followed by his materials. Then, he got his coat and put it on as it was begining to get a little chilly. He walked outside and looked his door. Turning, he saw the woman standing on the maze again, but in a different spot.)

"Do ya need some help? I'm been through this maze more than enough times to get through it blindfolded." The woman simply looked down and carefully jumped back into the maze. "Odd..." Normally, he'd off entered the maze, but it was large and Oscar didn't want to impose. He supposed that letting her find her own way out was what she wanted, so he walked a mile and a half to the nearest house.

He knocked on the door several times before a stout little man opened it. "May I help you?" Oscar smiled. "Hello. My name is Oscar Frantz. I live in the old Bergus estate." The man started. "Ah, Frantz. I have heard about you. It is said your work is too be amongst the most realistic any have ever seen. Please, do come in." Oscar reluctantly entered, then backed up, allowing the door to be closed.

"I don't mean to impose or trespass, but our daughter is... How shall I say..." Oscar noticed that the man raised an eyebrow. "I hate to ddisappoint you, sir, but if you're looking for a father, than you've come to the wrong place. I have I any children." Oscar started. "Then, the woman in the white gown is your wife..." The man titled his head. "Sir, I have never been married before in my life. I've lived here alone for the past thirty-two years..."

* * *

Oscar sat in a chair while the man, introducing himself as Dr. Harrison Vean, brought him some tea. "Thank you. Still, I don't understand. The nearest house past this is some twenty miles away..." Vean snorted.

"Ha! I'd saw a good twenty-four if anything." Oscar shook his head. "I don't understand. I've been seeing a woman in white for nearly a year now and yet, she's not from either mine nor your own establishments..."

Vean smiled. "I do not know of any woman in white, but if it would make you feel better, I wouldn't mind stopping by an admiring some of you work." Oscar thank the man for the compliment, but quickly turned back to his original thoughts. "Are you sure you don't get any visitors."

Vean chuckled. "A man who lives alone would go insane after four months. Yet, here I am, sanity and all. The only visitors I get, though, are through that." Vean pointed to an old vintage telephone. "My, my. I could tell this house was old, but..." Vean laughed. "Nonsense. If it were that old, the termites would've made a banquet out of it. I am simply a collector of antiques. I enjoyed the olden days, so I collect as much stuff as I can from that period. Why, I even have a vintage automobile from when cars were just another new idea. Would you like to see it?"

Oscar shook his head. "No, I think I'd better be heading back before this rain starts." Vean peered out the window and nodded. "Understandable. Some other time then." Vean saw Oscar to the door, but held it open. "One more thing, Mr. Frantz. You accent tickles me, but I can't for the love of me place it." Oscar started, then smirked. "It's Scottish, sir." Vean started. "Scottish. My, I was off... Oh well... Have a safe trip home."

Oscar nodded, then ran back as fast as he could. Once inside, he caught his breath and went up stairs to shower, but noticed the woman standing at the edge of the maze. He quickly ran outside and looked at her just as she motioned for him to follow her as she entered the maze. Hurrying, he ran to the entrance, but didn't see her. He cautiously walked down the only available path and looked around.

He saw he walk slowly down a path and he quickly followed her. And so it went on like this, him barely keeping up with her as a storm appeared in the clouds. Finally, Oscar broke out of the maze and saw the woman in the robe walked towards a ravine. "Be careful!" Oscar sprinted forward, then stopped.

She'd simply vanished from the area. He looked around, then looked down. He was standing at the top of a large ravine. He came here sometimes to be in a more airy atmosphere. Frowning, he turned around as the woman let forth a loud scream. Startled, Oscar cried out and went to step back, but lost his footing and fell several stories to the ground below. The woman watched his body for a few minutes, then turned and vanished into thin air.

_'As the Italian word for ghost, a banshee is a being who's unearthly cry is an omen for looming death. This is a fact that Mr. Oscar Frantz learned a little too late. Now, he lays there, dead and motionless at the bottom of a ravine... in the Twilight Zone...'_


End file.
